Heartbreak
by SpellCleaver
Summary: Heartbreak is everywhere, Rowan thought, reflecting back at you in every possible shape and form. In the crushed petals of a flower, in the vicious remark of a golden haired girl, in the rhythmic pounding that had set his nerves alight for the last months - or lack thereof. And it never really goes away.
1. A Meeting

**This was inspired by a prompt by awfulaus on tumblr, so credit for the idea goes to them. I found a bunch of theirs that inspired me, so I'll probably write more oneshots in the future.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Throne of Glass.**

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If that infernal pounding didn't stop soon, Rowan thought, he was going to march up there himself and strangle the offender.

The first time it came, a steady constant throb like a too-persistent headache that made the lampshade tremble and caused the doors to shudder on their hinges, Rowan was in a relatively good mood. Lyria had just phoned him and said, in between excited squeals, that she'd arranged to come and see him, a rare feat, considering her job as a botanist who specialised in preserving near-extinct species of flower took her all over the world on a regular basis. But she'd managed to squeeze in time for a quick flight to their hometown to visit him for a few days, and he hadn't been able to stop grinning at everyone since she'd told him.

It grated on people's nerves, he knew, even as they grinned back. Well, it wasn't really the smile that grated on their nerves, but rather the fact that they didn't know what he was smiling about. He knew that he came off as sullen to the wider world, but come on. Did they think he was that much of a wet blanket?

Apparently yes, as the dark-haired woman who lived in the second of the two flats on the floor above his gave him a curious look as he passed her on the stairs, her green eyes narrowing in a picture of cunning that uncannily and eerily reminded Rowan of a ghost leopard. He shook it off.

The residents of the first flat - the ones at fault for the irritating noise - were the only ones who looked happier than he did, though the blonde woman with the striking turquoise-and-gold eyes did raise an eyebrow as they bounded past him. They were a young couple, as far as Rowan knew, who'd only moved in a few days before. That was all he knew about them; he didn't even know their names, though, admittedly, he didn't know most of the people who lived in his block of flats. He once heard the man murmur, "Celaena," to his girlfriend, with enough adoration in his voice to make Rowan feel like he'd intruded on a special moment, so he presumed that was her name, but as far as he could remember, that wasn't the name the flat was registered under.

Even so, these amiable circumstances were undoubtably the reasons that when the pounding from the flat above his first began, he didn't mind it all that much. He was feeling kind, so he let the couple have their moment to dance together, or whatever the hell they were doing to make such a racket.

The second time it happened was the next day. It was seven in the evening, and Rowan had just sat down to read a book when it started up, a rhythmic thumping that wound its way through it skull and struck a bell in his head, sending the reverberations everywhere. His good mood had begun to slip a little, but when he looked at the photo of Lyria on the table in the centre of the room, and remembered she would be coming within the week, he calmed again.

This was the thought that supported him for the next five days, even as all that good humour he was using up began to drain away. The couple started dancing at exactly seven pm every night, and would stop at seven thirty. Then he wouldn't hear a peep out of them until the following day.

When the day came that Lyria was meant to be arriving, he drove to the airport to pick her up, her favourite flowers clutched in his fist. He frantically searched for her amongst the crowd, but he never found her. He kept a close watch on his phone, jumping out of his skin every time a ringtone sounded around him, even when it was a stranger's phone, a stranger's who answered.

Her plane was due to land at nine am. By four in the afternoon, he was so worried he could hardly think straight.

Lyria wouldn't have been this late and forgotten to call him, or text, or alert him in _some_ way. She was far too kind hearted and thoughtful for that. So where was she? Had she gotten lost? Had Rowan gotten the date wrong?

No, he confirmed as he scrolled back up the text conversation that had clarified when and where he'd meet her. He was on time, on the right day, at the right airport. So where was she? Had the plane encountered some sort of turbulence?

He phoned her mobile for what felt like the billionth time, even though he knew, logically, that if she was on the plane it would be turned on aeroplane mode. But he had to try.

It went to voicemail. He tried it again. Voicemail.

His throat was dryer than a desert as he went to hit the call button again because what he was thinking might've happened wasn't true it _couldn't_ be-

His phone started to ring, and his heart leapt into his throat like a frog trying to escape. He shoved the device against his ear. "Lyria?"

" _I'm afraid not, Rowan_ ," sad the cool, collected tones of his aunt Maeve.

Maeve was his aunt in the loosest sense, with several generations between them since the original siblings that bound their bloodlines, but she was, as far as he knew, his only living relative other than his cousin Enda, who he'd grown up with. She was also the woman who'd been the guardian of Lyria since her parents had died of a swift and fatal attack of illness, and her mistreatment of her ward thereafter was one of the many reasons for Rowan's distaste for her.

But if anyone knew what had happened to his girlfriend, it was her.

"Where's Lyria? What happened to her?"

" _Her plane crashed, Rowan,_ " came the curt, unfeeling reply, and Rowan's world ground to a halt. " _There've been no reported survivors."_

No.

No.

 _No._

LyriaLyriaLyriaLyriaLyria-

"What?" He managed to choke out. But she'd already hung up.

He absently took the phone down from his ear and shoved it into his pocket. He looked down at his hand; he'd crushed the flowers in his death grip. They were nothing more than a collection of stems and crumpled petals.

Rowan unfurled his hand and let them drop to the ground.

That was when the first sob hit.

He was never entirely sure how he got home in that frenzied state. He was lost in the worst possible way, even as his limbs worked on autopilot. walking to the car park, paying the exorbitant parking fee, and driving home. He'd made it into the flat before he collapsed on the sofa and just nestled himself amongst the blankets and pillows already thrown there.

That evening, when the pounding started, he had to contain his snarl. He burrowed deeper into his cocoon, and clutched his head, but as always the beat managed to strike into the soft parts of his brain that still ached, and thoroughly rattle him from the inside out.

It was only that remaining sliver of the kindness Lyria had taught him that had kept him from marching up there, taking their dancing shoes, and shoving them down their gods-damned throats.

That was yesterday.

Today he was too empty to consider moving, let alone yelling at anyone.

And so the days passed.

He wasn't sure when the day came that he noticed that the pounding had stopped, but one day he glanced at the clock and saw, to his surprise, that it was ten past seven, and no sounds emanated from the floor above. He merely grunted at this observation, and swiftly moved on.

But the silence stretched on.

A foreboding itch scratched the back of Rowan's mind. As annoying as it was, the beat had become almost soothing to him in his brooding solitude, and he missed it. And there was that nagging, unshakeable feeling in his gut that something was wrong.

He didn't realise what he'd decided to do before he'd secured the latch on the door and was letting it fall shut behind him.

Rowan's footsteps echoed loudly on the stairs as he wondered what the hell he was doing.

If the first sign that something was wrong was the eerie silence of the past few days, the second sign was a little more obvious. A large, broad shouldered man who had to be about Rowan's age sat against the wall just next to the door to the young couple's flat. He slouched against it, his head lolling back, and it was a moment before Rowan realised that he was asleep.

The third sign was the ghost leopard girl who lived in the flat opposite. She opened her door briefly to eye the snoring man, and when she caught Rowan's eye, she nodded her head at the door like it was perfectly natural for him to be there. "If you knock, she won't answer. The door's open; just head in. See if you can get through to her." He cast a questioning glance at the man on the floor, and she said quickly, "He's her cousin," as though that explained everything.

Nevertheless, Rowan heeded her words and gently pushed the door open, careful not the wake the blond man. He stepped inside and shut the door behind him, before he stiffened at what he found.

The main room was a tip. The sofas had their cushions ripped apart, with stuffing littered haphazardly all over the carpet. Furniture was overturned and in some cases broken, with a varnished table leg lying next to its overturned table. Books and magazines and DVDs had been thrown around, and broken glass crunched under his boot as Rowan took a step in.

But the most haunting sight was the tearful woman - who looked more like a girl in this light - leaning over a piano, though no notes came from it. It was the woman with the odd turquoise eyes.

He instantly saw what the brunette had meant when she said that she and the man outside were cousins. Looking at her now, there were many undeniable similarities between them - the precise shade of their hair, the slope of their brows, the jut of their chins. Rowan wondered if her cousin had the same peculiar eyes as her.

A phone rang and Rowan jumped, but the woman - Celaena? - just looked at it with dead eyes and let it ring. He made out the name _Dorian_ flash across the screen before whoever was calling gave up.

Finally, she spoke. "If you're here to apologise again, Aedion, you can- Oh." She turned and saw Rowan standing there. Her mouth slanted into a viciously bitter smile. "Buzzard." A blink was all the surprise he showed at her choice of nickname. "Have you come to apologise, too?"

"What would I be sorry about?"

She barked a harsh laugh. "I don't know. But the whole damn world feels the need to apologise anyway." She turned back to the piano, and her hands hovered above the ivory keys, though they didn't quite touch them. She shot her next barb over her shoulder. "What are you doing here?"

He didn't know. He honestly didn't know. "You're Celaena, right?"

" _D_ _on't_ call me that." He flinched involuntarily. "Only Sam called me that."

 _Called._

Oh.

Rowan said carefully, "How did he die?"

She replied with, "How did your girlfriend die?"

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. His confusion must have showed in his face, because she laughed, and there was nothing happy in it. "Oh come on, it's not that hard to figure out. You were positively beaming a few weeks ago, and smiling in anticipation every time you got a text. And there was that time I heard you call her 'Lyria', so I assumed they were a girl. But correct me if I'm wrong."

"No." His voice was very, very distant. "You're not wrong." At her expectant look, he said shortly, "Plane crash."

"Gun shot," she replied. "I'm still not sure what happened. He was walking to the studio and when I caught up to him, he was already dead. They dug the bullet out of his chest in the hospital."

That she could talk about this at all, that she spoke about it with such casualness to her voice, seemed almost blasphemous. But then he closed observed her posture, the face, and her tone. No, that wasn't casualness; that was a deadness that one felt to their very core. A numbness that completely cut you off from the world, and all the creatures in it.

She said quietly, venomously, "I don't know who did it. Which is probably a good thing. Because if I did, I would hunt them down and rip out their rutting throats."

He observed the flowers strewn across the top of the piano, the smashed vase. They were daffodils, the trumpets smashed into a flat yellow mush. His voice was hoarse as he said, "Sometimes I still hear her voice in my head, telling me to be kinder, or less of an arsehole."

A beat of silence, then-

"Sometimes I want to dance. Like we used to dance, regardless of whether we're at the studio or on stage or even in the middle of the flat. I want to dance with him. Or I want to play the piece of music he used to love so much and I'll sit down at this gods-damned piano but then my fingers touch the keys and I remember. He's dead. Sam is dead. Dead and gone. He's not coming back. He'll never dance with me again, or teach those children all so eager to learn how he moves the way he does, like the world's not there and he's dancing for you and you alone. We'll never get to grow old together, and he'll never get to give me the engagement ring I found in his coat pocket the week before he died."

Rowan wasn't sure how to respond to her soliloquy; there were so many things he could have said to ease the pain, even a tiny bit, but there were also so many things he could say to make it worse. So he said instead, "I'm not sure I caught your name."

She smiled then, a weak, watery smile, but a smile all the same. She brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. "It's Aelin."

"Rowan," he responded, and slid onto the bench beside her.

Heartbreak is everywhere, Rowan thought, reflecting back at you in every possible shape and form. In the crushed petals of a flower, in the vicious remark of a golden haired girl, in the rhythmic pounding that had set his nerves alight for the last months - or lack thereof. And it never really goes away.

Her full name was Aelin Ashryver Galathynius, she told him, and her cousin sleeping outside the door was Aedion, who'd been trying to get through to her for the past two days before he passed out, exhausted by his efforts. The ghost leopard woman across the hall was Lysandra, Aedion's girlfriend, and one of Aelin's closest friends. Others who'd tried to get through to her included friends - "well," Aelin grumbled, "I wouldn't necessarily say _friends_ " Elide, Dorian and Chaol - the latter of whom phoned her whilst they were talking, and she just hung up immediately.

Aelin was a dancer, and had met Sam aged fifteen at one of the shows she'd performed in. Their initial rivalry had fizzled into camaraderie, then friendship, then love, until they were young adults, and had moved in with each other. They'd been looking into setting up their own studio where they could teach young children, which was where Sam had been headed on the night he'd been killed.

There came a time where Rowan accidentally jostled Aelin's elbow and she slipped, her fingers landing on the keys with a less than melodic thunk. She sucked in a breath, eyes pressing tightly shut, even as her fingers settled into position as if they'd done it a hundred times before. For all he knew, they had.

She tentatively opened her eyes, and her fingers still rested there. She pressed down, and flinched at the note.

Aelin played a series of low notes, flexing her hands periodically, before she slumped back, and they fell in her lap.

"My friend, Dorian," she said tightly, then cleared her throat. Her eyes were bright. "He lost his girlfriend Sorscha last year. Perhaps he could. . ."

Rowan said gently, "If that's what you think is best."

She slowly took her phone in hand, and looked down at it like she hadn't realised she'd done it. She robotically typed in a password and then she was scrolling through her contacts until she found one titled _His Highness, The Puppy Lover_. Her thumb hovered over it for a second, before she pressed the call button.

The sharpness of the ringing cut through the tranquil atmosphere. Dorian answered with surprising speed, and his tone was panicked and breathless as he said, _"Hello? Aelin?"_

"Hi."

 _"How are you? You keep ignoring all our calls, Nehemia's absolutely out of her mind sick with worry_ -" Aelin flinched at the mention of the name, and Rowan briefly wondered who she was to her. There was a silence, then, _"Aelin?"_

Aelin swallowed, but that lump in her throat was very much audible as she asked him, "Does it ever stop hurting so much?"

A brief silence, and Rowan could practically hear the internal battle her friend was having with himself. But the sorrow in his voice was very real as he said, "I think you have to work that out for yourself."

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 **I have ideas on how to continue this, if anyone's interested, but for now I'll leave it as a oneshot.**

 **What did you think? Review?**


	2. A Reunion

**Hi! So as you can see, I decided to continue it. The chapters will be effectively oneshots each, or two shots, but there'll be several time skips between each chapter. If you have any questions, or are confused, just say so in the reviews and I'll do my best to explain in the next update.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Throne of Glass.**

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The silence in the car was crushing Rowan's lungs as he tried and failed to find interest in the view zipping past the window. The countryside along the border between Adarlan and Terrasen was beautiful, but it failed to draw his interest.

Aedion's hands were on the steering wheel, his knuckles white with the death grip he held it in. Lysandra was slouched in the passenger seat, though her shoulders were tense. She had her earplugs in, and was scrolling through her seemingly endless supply of music on her phone. Her phone case was an image of a snow leopard, and every time she tilted her phone, the setting sun caught the fake emerald eyes of the creature, so it glinted at him slyly.

Aelin was on Rowan's left, and she had her head resting on the window, though Rowan was sure that vibrations of the car were shaking her eyeballs in their sockets. She had her eyes closed, and her face was peculiarly blank of emotion. He would guess she was sleeping, were it not for the rigidness of her posture, or the tendons sticking out on the back of her hand, that betrayed the firm grasp she gripped the seat with.

He wasn't even sure how he'd gotten himself into this situation.

Since he'd first officially met Aelin on that day several weeks ago, they'd made a point to spend at least an hour in each other's company each day. Even if they didn't say anything, it was almost soothing to know that a person who understood the sort of pain you were going through was in the same room as you. Aelin would sit at the piano, and though she would never intentionally play a piece, she would occasionally just trace the keys over and over, like she was finger painting something onto the instrument. Rowan often caught himself staring at the flowers - because there were _always_ flowers, sent by well wisher upon well wisher upon well wisher, until the flat was clogged up with the stench of them - and itching to rearrange them, because the way the pinks sat next to the greens at odd angles, the reds and the yellows clashed. . . it would have driven Lyria insane.

Occasionally they would talk, about random things, until Rowan supposed that something of a friendship had sprung up between them. Aelin would occasionally voice a question, and he would answer. Whether or not she had spoken to her friend - Dorian, was it? - about managing the loss, he didn't know but the silence they'd always sat in then, when united by a common aim, had always been companionable.

Now, though, it was just stifling.

It had been Aedion who brought it up one day, about a week ago. He'd been round at Aelin's, and they'd been. . . talking, mainly, when Aedion had walked through the door (because apparently Aelin had something against locking doors) and started to voice a question to his cousin, before he realised that she had company. He'd cast a curious look between the two of them, before he went on with what he'd been saying. "Are you going to the family reunion this year?"

Aelin had answered with a noncommittal grunt.

Aedion had asked Rowan to join him outside, where he'd succinctly explained what he wanted from the man. Aelin and her family had an annual meet up, and she'd made a tradition of bringing Sam with her for the last ten years. But she hadn't been able to bring herself to tell them that he was dead, nor justify why she hadn't invited them to the quick and quiet funeral she'd held for him. Especially considering that Sam had no family of his own, so, effectively, they _were_ his family.

"I don't think she can make it through without you," Aedion had admitted to him.

"Why me?" Rowan had asked. "I'm just as broken as she is. More so. You and Lysandra would be just as much of a help."

Aedion had shaken his head. "No. You haven't seen what a help you've been for her since the two of you met. It has to be you."

So, here he was. And though he hated the position he was in, he couldn't bring himself to regret it. Because Aedion might think that Rowan was helping his cousin through the cousin, Aelin was helping him more. The ache hadn't lessened, but knowing that there was life beyond it, that he wasn't alone in feeling this way. . . It had helped massively. So here he was to return the favour.

They pulled up after about three hours of driving, in the drive of a large country house just on the outskirts of a village. Aedion gave him a quick run down that the house was the home of Aelin's uncle, much to the chagrin of her cousin Ren, who found it trying to drive to and from Allsbrook, the nearest city, where he'd set up his home, to visit his grandfather. Rowan eyed the mountainous building with a sense of foreboding. He hadn't anticipated that Aelin's family might be as uptight as the place suggested. Well kept gardens, with the sort of sweeping elegance that reminded Rowan distinctly of his aunt Maeve. He shuddered at the thought. He hoped Aelin's relatives weren't anything like her. That would be an unparalleled nightmare.

Lysandra shot Aedion a fluttering grin, and Rowan was surprised to see genuine excitement there as she unbuckled her seatbelt. Perhaps this wouldn't be as bad as he thought.

Despite this encouraging thought, he was still slightly daunted as he stepped out of the car and looked up at the house. The roof tiles gleamed golden in the evening light, and he breathed in the scent of moon-white jasmine, climbing rose trellises, and lemon trees that had no right to be blooming this time of night. Aelin's scent.

He cast a glance at her. She stood near her cousin, up on the top step as he rang the doorbell, but that scent was definitely the one that surrounded her day to day life. He'd presumed she just liked the smell and bought a particular scented body wash. Perhaps she did do that; he wouldn't know; he'd never used her bathroom. It seemed too intimate for heir relationship.

Aedion had said she'd been raised in this house, hadn't he? Maybe she preferred the scent because it reminded her of home.

Rowan breathed in him, and told himself to stop stalling for time. He jogged up the steps to the door to stand next to the other three, not a moment too soon, as the door swung inwards to reveal a young man with onyx hair that fell to his jaw, and a wicked looking scar that split his eyebrow and cheek. He raised an eyebrow at Aedion, and smirked at Aelin.

"Aelin, Aedion," he greeted. He nodded at Lysandra. "And-" He cut himself off as he noticed Rowan.

Admittedly, often Rowan could be very hard to miss, being a large man with bright silver hair and tattoos. But he'd remained on the step below the others, so Aedion was ever so slightly taller than him, and the stark shadows cast by the evening reduced him to a glinting silhouette.

The man looked surprised to see him there, but after a look at Aedion - and the terrifying glare fixed to the blond's face - he swiftly hid it. He just smirked at Aelin again as he stepped aside to let them through. "Late, as always."

He paused, like he expected her to snap back at him, but there was only silence. Rowan filed inside after Aedion, slightly glad to be rid of the bite of cold air.

Lysandra saved the situation from becoming awkward by breezing by him and commenting dryly, "Always a pleasure, Ren."

Rowan saw Aedion visibly relax a few steps ahead of them, and the man - Ren - seemed soothed too, by the brunette's lofty greeting. "Likewise," he replied, eyes flashing like rich brandy in the dim light. He waved a hand ahead of them. "You know the way."

Rowan went to follow as his three companions drifted along the corridor into a door on the left (there were too many doors here; he was easily going to get lost) but Ren gripped his shoulder. Not tightly, but firm enough to get him to halt.

"Where's Sam?" Ren asked, voice loud enough to not be considered a whisper, but low enough that none of the others heard. He narrowed his eyes at him like he thought Rowan was at fault for his friend's absence.

Rowan shrugged off the man's hand. "He's dead," he summarised curtly. The blood drained from Ren's face, but he paid it no heed. A sudden irritation rose up in him. Why had Aedion insisted he come, when everyone was clearly hoping for someone else? Why even put him in that position?

He suppressed a growl, and flung open the door he'd seen the others go through.

He emerged into a living room of sorts, which connected to a large dining room at the back. Sofas and armchairs arced round the edges of the room, and food was stacked on the table. A few people were about - a dark haired couple who looked to be in their sixties, a younger woman who could plausibly be their daughter, an old man sitting stiff and upright - but the large room felt overall empty without enough people to fill it. Rowan glanced towards the table at the back, and observed how much food was laid out. He hoped that more people would come, if the amount of cake was anything to go by.

"Aelin!" Someone called, and Rowan started, to see the dark haired woman he'd noticed approaching. She walked with a slight but noticeable limp, but her long blue dress did a good job of hiding it, not to mention accentuating her feminine assets. She was small and dainty, with a sharp wicked face with narrow eyes that crinkled when she beamed. "It's been too long."

He looked on in amazement as the enthusiasm did what he, Aedion and Lysandra hadn't managed to do in weeks: it made Aelin smile.

Not the small, placatory smiles she'd been giving them since the incident, but a full blown, genuine grin that lit up her face like her friend's presence was all she'd needed to replace a broken fuse.

"Elide!" She grinned, and Rowan caught Aedion and Ren giving her sideways glances, like they were just as shocked as he was.

As the two girls walked away, he nudged the blond in the shoulder. Those remarkable eyes snapped to his. "I take it that's not particularly normal?"

Aedion frowned. "No. That's normal. That's what shocked me. Although, I should've known, in hindsight." At Rowan's raised eyebrow, Aedion went on. "Elide and Aelin were very close as children, the sort of stereotypical best friends you see in movies, with Elide being the goodie two shoes and Aelin being the wilder one. It makes sense that it would be Elide to elicit this sort of reaction from her."

"I thought she and Lysandra were best friends."

"They are. Not only because Elide has another best friend - Manon - who rarely attends these things because she finds them too 'stuffy', and not just because we're all cousins either way. Aelin and Lysandra are actually just as close as Aelin and Elide are. Closer. But Aelin met Lysandra through Sam-"

"Ah." Rowan didn't need to hear anymore to understand.

"Exactly. It brought up memories in a time memories was the last thing she wanted." He shook his head. "I can't believe I didn't see it earlier."

"Elide and Aelin just left the building," Lysandra chimed in, sashaying up behind them and making Rowan jump again. If she was hurt by Aelin's dismissal of her, she didn't show it. "I take it she took more fondly to her than she did to Ren?" She nodded at the man in question, who turned at the sound of his name and scowled good naturedly at her, before resuming his conversation with the old man he'd been talking with.

"You could say that," Aedion said evasively. His girlfriend narrowed her eyes at him and smirked knowingly, though there was something else lurking in her expression. Rowan wasn't sure what it was about the atmosphere of this place, but the previously tense and sorrowful attitudes these people had been sporting for the past few weeks were gone. They still held a certain degree of concern, but that concern was relaxed now, in a situation that by all means should have been awkward.

Although, he understood Aelin's need to get out of this place. If it was true what he'd been told, that she'd come here with Sam for the past six years, then he empathised with her need to leave. If he were to return to his aunt Maeve's country house back home in Wendlyn, and walk the halls with his mind full of how he and Lyria had run through them when they were still teenagers, and had all the time in the world. . . He wouldn't be able to stand it.

But seeing Aelin interact with Elide, with Ren and Lysandra. . . It made him wonder if his own cousins would be so comforting if he approached them for help. They had been his siblings growing up, until he'd moved away and slowly lost contact with everyone but Lyria. Perhaps it was time to reconnect, with Endymion at the very least.

He'd been lost in thought, apparently staring towards Ren and the old man, because Aedion answered a question he hadn't asked with, "That's Murtaugh, Ren's grandfather."

Surprised, Rowan flicked his eyes towards the blond. "I thought you were all cousins. Surely you would have the same grandfather? And for that matter, you don't exactly look alike, do you?"

Aedion grinned at that. "Nah. Murtaugh is Aelin and Elide's uncle - their grandfather had seven sons, five with his first wife, two with his second, four of whom never show their faces at any of these events. The remaining three are Cal," he nodded at the dark haired man he'd discerned to be Elide's father, "Murtaugh, who's Ren's grandfather. Ren's technically our second cousin, so he gets teased a lot for being the youngest. And then there was Rhoe, who was Aelin's father."

Rowan quietly noted the "was".

"And as for the fact we don't look alike, I agree. Elide and Ren have some ghostly similarities if you squint, but primarily they take after their mothers. Aelin takes after her mother as well, which is where the hair and eyes come from." He gestured to his own striking colouring.

"So, you're not actually related to this lot."

"I'm not a Galathynius? No. Though technically, only Aelin goes by that name: Ren's called Allsbrook, after his father, and Cal and his younger brother - and therefore, Elide - go by the name Lochan, after their mother. But I'm related to Aelin through our mothers, who were twin sisters. They were Ashryvers. You're from Wendlyn, right?"

"Yes."

"Well, then, you may have of heard of them. I know our cousin Galan's done quite well as a politician over there, and he clashes _constantly_ with the woman who endorses him, who was it again-"

"Maeve?" Rowan's blood ran cold. All at once, a voice - Lyria's voice - started playing in his head, a stilted phone call, where his girlfriend had complained about Maeve being in a foul temper twenty four seven because she was receiving more resistance than she'd anticipated from the man she worked with. "She told me she was only endorsing him in an attempt to hold significant power should he ever get elected."

He felt Aedion's surprise before he even shut his mouth. "You know her?"

"She's my aunt."

There was something else here, something the blond wasn't telling him, Rowan realised as a look of complete and utter disgust briefly washed over Aedion's face. But it was gone in a heartbeat, and he clapped him on the shoulder. "Poor you."

"Indeed," he murmured.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of niceties and idle chitchat, so much so that Rowan began to wonder what the point of him being there was. He just sort of staked out his spot on the sofa, and refused to get up at all for the next several hours. It was only a few hours later that he realised Aedion and Lysandra were saying their farewells, and shrugging on their coats. He glanced around to see Aelin and Elide stepping inside, both with relaxed expressions and chatting idly as the door slammed shut, though not before a bone-chilling breeze shot through the room.

Aelin said something else to Elide and hugged her cousin, before holding the door open for Aedion to walk through. She met eyes with Rowan, and cheerfully called out, "You coming, buzzard, or are we leaving you behind?"

Slightly caught off guard by her sunny mood, Rowan followed.

Once they were outside the house, Aedion grabbed her hand and exclaimed, "Gods, Aelin! You're freezing! Why didn't you take a coat outside with you?"

She just shrugged as she slipped into the car, though her humour began to wane. It was only when everyone was seated and Aedion had started the engine that she said, "Elide and I had a lot to catch up on. We couldn't be bothered to go back inside."

"You meeting up anytime soon?" Lysandra asked, meeting Aelin's eyes in the rear view mirror. The question seemed to thinly veil another question, but Rowan couldn't tell what it was.

Aelin, however, wasn't fazed. "Yeah, she's visiting Rifthold next week with Manon for a business trip anyway, so I'll see her then. She promised to drop by." There was another answer there, the answer to whatever question Lysandra had silently posed, but again, Rowan couldn't work out what it was.

"Good."

Silence fell after that, and Rowan felt himself begin to nod off - it was, of course, nearly eleven o'clock at night; why on earth they hadn't stayed at the house overnight was beyond him, if the reunion started so late - until a shrill ringing sliced through the darkness of the car like a knife.

The screen of Aelin's phone was glowing, the name _Chaol_ scrolling across it. He saw her squint in the light. She raised it up to her ear and snapped - though without her grief-stricken fervour; the remnants of her good mood still lingered - "What?"

In the dark, he couldn't see her face drain of colour, but a few terse words were exchanged between them, and then Aelin hung up. It was only when she dropped her phone onto the seat that he realised how badly her hands were shaking. She slumped against the car door.

"Aelin?" Lysandra turned around and was peering at her friend. Her hand shot out to flick on the light, and Aedion grumbled about it being a safety hazard whilst he drove, but let it slide. He seemed just as concerned. "Who was that?"

"Chaol." The word was curt.

"What did he want? What did he say?"

"They caught the person who he's certain was the one to shoot Sam." Her voice broke on his name. Lysandra opened her mouth, an expression of joy on her face, but Aelin cut her off. "His name's Rourke Farran. He's had his trial. There wasn't sufficient evidence to convict him. He walked free."


	3. A Friend

Rowan felt a peculiar queasiness steal over him as he felt the phone slide in his slick palms.

He was nervous, he realised belatedly. He was actually nervous.

It was just Enda.

Why was he nervous?

But he could feel himself waver, and before he convinced himself it was perfectly alright to back out, he dialled the number and listened to it ring.

He tucked his thumb behind his phone in an attempt to resist the urge to hang up; Enda would just phone him back, and then he'd be having this conversation caught off guard, which was not an enviable concept.

So he let it ring, until it hung up automatically and Enda's voicemail started playing. He couldn't deny that he breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the message scroll across the screen.

He placed his phone on the table and walked into the bedroom to pick up the book he'd been reading, some sort of retelling of Hades and Persephone. He was only a few chapters in, but he was feeling a bit iffy about the current love interest-

Rowan's stomach seized violently as a soft but unmistakeable buzzing filled the room.

He took a few steps back, picked up the phone, and clicked accept before he could lose his nerve. "Hello? Endymion?"

" _Assassin or messenger, Prince?_ "

Rowan scoffed, and rolled his eyes, not entirely bothering to resist the smile that crept up his face. When they were younger, Enda had enjoyed joking that Rowan was the poshest of them all, and had taken to calling him "Prince" as a term of affection, and whenever he would retreat into one of his silent brooding sessions, when he came out Enda had thought it was a good idea to chirp "Assassin or messenger?" for some reason.

His cousin claimed it sprang from Rowan's habit of being the mediator between their cousins, and those rare occasions when Rowan himself was apoplectic with rage, but Rowan had his doubts.

Enda always had been a little bit obsessed with his fantasy novels, about assassins and thieves and faeries.

He was the one who'd recommended Rowan his current read, in fact.

So Rowan let the grin crack his face in two, and responded, "Neither. Just a friendly call."

" _I find that hard to believe_ ," came the reply. " _Not only did you start off with 'Endymion', but you don't know the meaning of 'friendly'._ "

Rowan turned away from the kitchen counter, and rose to the bait willingly. Gladly. "Maybe I've learned since I last saw you. Met new people. Become a new person myself."

" _That wouldn't be beyond the realm of possibility,_ " his cousin mused, though now his gut clenched at the reproach in the words. " _It's been long enough since I_ did _see you, after all._ "

He swallowed at that. "About that." Absently, almost unconsciously, his fingers started tapping a rhythm on the back of a chair. He realised it was the same rhythm he'd once heard Aelin and Sam beating across the ceiling. He stopped. "How would you feel about me dropping into Doranelle for a visit?"

" _I'm living in Varese at the moment, actually._ " Enda corrected him, but Rowan could practically see the smile spreading over his face. _"And do you really need to ask? You know that were it not for the fact I don't know your address, I would've dropped by without warning at least twice by now._ "

"Not everyone has your lack of manners and common courtesy, Enda."

" _Ah, but you do. Antisocial prick such as you are._ "

Rowan couldn't argue with that.

Aelin flashed through his mind, and for a moment it was on the tip of his tongue to mention her, but he didn't want to go that deep with Enda just yet. He was enjoying himself just relaxing into a familiar situation, rather than throwing in an unknown factor.

" _So. . ._ " Enda began, his indirect way of telling Rowan he'd drifted off into space again. " _I don't suppose you could get a flight over here by next weekend?_ "

"I do have a job, Enda."

" _Can't you take some time off? What do you even do?_ "

Rowan huffed. "I can't, and you know that perfectly well, Endymion."

" _So we're back to Endymion, now, are we?_ "

Rowan rolled his eyes. "I know you're just trying to wind me up now. And I'll try to get there for the weekend _after_ next, if it matters that much to you."

There was a brief pause. " _It does_." Silence, then, " _You know, I'm sure Maeve could pull a few strings-_ "

"No." Rowan's blood chilled for a moment, and his mind flashed to Lyria. He couldn't bear to interact with her, not when the memory of her cold voice, almost gleeful as she spoke of the love of his life's passing.

Not to mention the disgust that had crossed Aedion's face when he'd found out Rowan was her nephew. The way he'd looked at Rowan, as though simply sharing blood with her made him a monster. . .

"No." He said finally. "I'm not going to ask any favours of Maeve."

Enda didn't push it. " _Then do me a favour,_ " he haggled instead.

Rowan narrowed his eyes, even though his cousin couldn't see him. "What is it?" He asked slowly.

" _Bring a friend with you._ " Came the reply. Rowan made to argue, but Enda cut him off. " _And if you don't have any friends, see if you can make one by then. These months of silence must have meant you've been interacting with people plenty._ "

"That's the most ridiculous thing-"

But he'd already hung up.

* * *

"Who is it?" Aelin shouted unceremoniously in response to the too-loud rapping on the door. Rowan looked up briefly from his book, but grunted in unison with Aelin as the perpetrator pushed open the door and stepped inside. He returned his attention to the text as Aelin clicked her tongue. "Oh, it's you lot again."

"No need to be so dismissive, Aelin." One of the three people who'd stepped in spoke - a man, heavily built, with a tanned face and hair that glinted bronze in the afternoon light.

Aelin rolled her eyes. "Well, if you'd left when I'd dismissed you, I wouldn't have to be dismissive now, would I, Chaol?" She bit back, wielding his name like a whip. He didn't flinch, but Rowan, observing them from over his book, noticed a muscle in his jaw perform an acrobatic routine.

"I don't know if I just didn't notice you do it, but considering we stepped in less than half a minute ago, I'd be impressed if you'd managed to dismiss us that quickly." The other man in the company of three said, with a sort of glorious boredom to his voice. His onyx hair flopped across his face as he turned his head, and spotted Rowan sitting quietly on the sofa, trying to ignore everyone else.

The man's face lit up. "Oh, what are you reading?" he asked, and made a beeline to sit next to Rowan. The silver haired man recognised his voice now - it was the man Aelin had called, the one who'd lost his girlfriend - Dorian.

Wordlessly, Rowan held up the book so he could continue reading, but Dorian could read the front and back cover.

"I would've thought the words exchanged in our last discussion would've been enough, Dorian," Aelin responded. "Without me having to repeat them for certain individuals to get the message." She shot a glare at Chaol.

The final person who'd entered cleared her throat. The only woman, she had creamy brown skin, and the sort of features you'd expect to see on a princess. Her dark hair was done up in braids, and she had watchful, wary dark eyes that flited between everyone standing in the room, seeing far too much. "Aelin-" she began, a solemn set to her face, but was ignored by her friend.

Dorian looked up from where he'd been reading the blurb of Rowan's book, and he had the sort of grin that Aelin had when she was amused, that had you instinctually backing away into a wall. " _'Contains mature content. Not suitable for younger readers'_?" He laughed. "What are you reading, Rowan Whitethorn?" He glanced back at Aelin briefly. "This is Rowan, right?"

"Yeah," she responded, and an identical grin split her face too. Behind her, the other woman looked vaguely, but politely, annoyed. "And actually, I'd like to know what that refers to, as well. This seems uncharacteristic of you."

"It sounds like something out of a book you'd read," Dorian agreed.

Aelin pressed a hand to her chest in mock offence, but the laugh she laughed was like something she'd produced when talking to Elide. Rowan had to wonder at it. She and Dorian were obviously close friends. "Not everything I read is a smutty romance!"

"No, that's true." Her friend acquiesced. Rowan glanced at Chaol and the woman briefly, and noticed that he wasn't the only one feeling slightly out of sync with this conversation. He glanced back at Dorian just in time to see his grin return. "You do read the books I recommend," he finished. Aelin's indignant squawk made everyone laugh.

Rowan glanced at her curiously. "You like to read?" He'd never seen her do so.

Astonished silence filled the room. Even Chaol looked shocked. "You didn't know that?" He asked of him, gawking slightly. Rowan held his gaze for a moment, then looked away. He hated this feeling he had, like he was being stupid.

The woman Rowan didn't know broke the silence by tapping Aelin's elbow and trying to begin her preach again. She reached out to grip her shoulder as she said, "Aelin, I really think you should-"

"Don't, Nehemia." Aelin cut her off. Nehemia's hand froze, hovering centimetres above her friend's shoulder. Aelin's voice was hard, brittle - but there was a crumbling edge to it as she said, "I know what you're going to say, and there's no point. You couldn't convince me yesterday, or the day before that; you're not going to be able to convince me today."

Nehemia's voice was soft, but persuasive and penetrating as she said, "You're destroying yourself."

"I'm _coping_ -"

"Coping doesn't mean it gets any better!" For the first time, Nehemia's voice slipped into a shout.

Aelin responded in kind. "But it means it doesn't get any worse, either!"

Perhaps it was the real fear in the blonde's voice - the fear, the pain, and the _hurt_ \- that kept her friend quiet, or maybe it was the disarming capacity of the words themselves. Rowan didn't know, but he knew that Nehemia did shut up when she heard it, and the silence left behind gave Aelin the space to keep talking.

"There is a _rip_ , inside me, Nehemia, and I spend every single day of my existence trying to push it closed. I have for years. I can't touch it, can't acknowledge it, because there is a monster inside me that wants to acknowledge that pain, and it will come roaring out in anger if it scents blood. And if it can't find who's at fault for the pain, it might very well rip the world apart for spite."

Dorian and Chaol had stopped trying to mind their own business now, and were just trying not to gawk at the most words they'd heard Aelin say in weeks.

"I have tried to let it scab over for years now, and Sam's. . . passing, has ripped it off. So I can't afford to pick at the scab any more, or the blood will start flowing. And I don't want to know what lies beneath it."

Under his breath, too quietly for Aelin to hear, Chaol muttered, "I think she's been reading too many books. She's picked up some habits from the more dramatic characters." Rowan couldn't tear his eyes away from Aelin long enough to snap at him.

She was crying, he realised. Tears slid down her cheeks, and the gold in her eyes was a precious metal mosaic in a swimming pool, but she made no move to wipe at her face. Her gaze didn't waver from Nehemia's.

And her friend perhaps felt the weight of that moment, because her voice was deadly soft and gentle as she said, "Would you rather live in pain everyday for the rest of your life, Aelin, or let it all go in one excruciating rush?"

Aelin bared her teeth for a moment in defiance. "I have lived with it for over a decade," she said, and though she didn't smile, there was a slight growl behind her words. "I can survive a few more."

"It's not about the surviving." Nehemia's face was heartbreaking. "It's about the living."

Seeing Aelin begin to sob was what finally scared Rowan into moving.

He should not be there to see these girls' conversation. He didn't not want to be there to see it. Not when he connected to both of their arguments on an emotional level: Nehemia's for its logic and compassion, and Aelin's for the sheer accuracy. His grief _was_ a tear inside him - and although he didn't know what Nehemia wanted her to do, if he had to tear it open again, he didn't' want to know what would come thundering out.

Footsteps followed him down the stairs, and when he ducked into his own flat and made to slam the door, a hand blocked its route.

He looked up to meet the person's gaze. It was Nehemia.

"Can you help convince her?" She asked, despair leaking into her tone. "She listens to you."

"What are you actually trying to convince her to do?" He asked.

She ran a hand through her braids. "See someone. Go to a therapist. Talk about this monster that's eating her alive." She shuddered. "Even if it hurts her, it'll be better in the long run." He had to agree. "It _has_ to be."

"I'll do it," he said after a moment's deliberation. "She does need it."

"Thank you, Rowan." Nehemia nodded to the wilted flowers he still had on his table, and said, "I'm sorry for your loss, by the way."

Then she was gone.


	4. A Family

Rowan loved flying. Many had called him an oddity for this in the past, but he truly loved it. The lurch in your stomach as the plane first takes off, then the building pressure in your ears and the moment that everything goes silent, like the world finally knew that all you wanted was some gods-damned peace and quiet, before you swallow and the bubble pops, and you're plunged into chaos again.

The idea that he was thousands of feet above the ground in what was essentially a giant metal cylinder had never scared Rowan. If anything, it thrilled him. It was exhilarating, the knowledge of how far modern science had come.

Aelin, however, had no such thoughts.

Her turquoise eyes were squeezed shut with enough force to make her go blind, and she clenched the arm rests in a knuckle bruising grip. She had a hard boiled sweet in her mouth and she sucked it frantically, trying to get her ears to pop. The terror in her face was enough to give anyone vertigo.

"You look absolutely terrified," Rowan told her, most unhelpfully.

"No shit, buzzard," was her hissed reply, more crackling flame and spit than speech. She cracked an eye open to glare at him. "How the fuck are you so calm?"

"Do you always take to swearing when you're flying?" He asked coyly. Her glare just got fiercer, and he could only imagine the thoughts rolling around in her head like a plane in turbulence. _Gods, I shouldn't have given myself that image_. "Careful, Aelin; there are children on this flight."

"Well, fuck them." She replied, eyes tightly shut again. "Fuck you too. Fuck this plane, and all its fucking wings and engines, and fuck the person who ever thought it would be a good idea to build a fucking coffin out of metal and launch it into the fucking sky."

"It's nowhere near as crude as that. The engines and the controls are all delicate things, and it's all carefully monitored."

"Oh, that's really reassuring." Somehow, she made the sarcasm sound cutting even without throwing in another "fucking" for good measure. "Glad to know that we're fucking doomed if a fucking bird flies into the fucking engine because it's all _delicate_ and _monitored_ and _controlled_ because apparently nothing can ever be fucking simple nowadays!"

"Excuse me, miss," one of the air hostesses approached them to say. "Could you tone down the profanity a bit? There've been some complaints from mothers nearby."

Aelin opened her eye again to glare at the woman; Rowan was surprised she didn't flinch. The golden of her iris sparked, and the blue burned bright and hot. In that moment he was reminded of the centre of a gas flame, gilded with the cooler orange areas. "Well tell them they can fuck off." The air hostess just pressed her lips together and walked away.

"Seriously, though," Rowan murmured. "Try to respect the kids. If you won't stop swearing, at least stop shouting."

The golden-haired woman immediately clapped a hand over her mouth. "I was shouting?"

He nodded grimly. "At the top of your lungs."

She flushed violently, a dark pink that burned on her cheeks like someone had tossed makeup at her. Rowan found it oddly cute.

"But in all seriousness," Aelin added. "How are you so calm? Do you have some sort of obsession with planes?"

Now it was his turn to blush. "I do actually." Her face snapped to him so fast there was an audible crick in her spine. "I'm studying to be an engineer, specialising in planes and helicopters. I'm also working towards getting my pilot's license."

A small smile was playing about her lips, and there was genuine curiosity in her face. "Well how about that." Then she settled back in her seat and closed her eyes. "Just so long as you never make me fly in a plane with you until you've been thoroughly tested."

"Where is the faith?"

She laughed. He'd found that he liked her laugh, clear and musical, much like her voice, except her laugh wasn't use to spout mindless profanity within earshot of children. It was elusive and rare, but it was wonderful to hear.

Once she stopped laughing, she asked solemnly, "But this obsession with planes. . . it isn't new?"

He creased his brow. "No. I've had it since I was a little kid. Why?"

Her right hand came up to rub her bicep. "Well, I just thought that recent events might have influenced it slightly."

 _Recent events. . ._ Oh.

Voice hoarse, he said, "It's got nothing to do with Lyria. Or the way she died." The look Aelin gave him told him exactly how much she believed that. "It's true!" He swallowed. "Maybe it influenced it slightly, what with the plane malfunctioning and all. I just want to build and design planes that are easy for competent pilots to operate. Is that so wrong?"

She studied him for a moment. Her gaze was intense, the sort of look he hadn't seen her muster since he first spoke to her. It stripped him bare. "No," she said finally. "There's nothing wrong with that at all."

* * *

It was chaos in the airport once the plane landed. Wendlyn was much warmer than Adarlan, and whilst Rowan had been prepared for the heat with a quick change of summer clothes in his knapsack, judging by Aelin's grumbling, she'd done nothing of the sort, and was apparently being boiled alive.

"You could have at least warned me that Wendlyn was like the inside of a sauna," she grumbled. "All I have in my bag is long sleeved tops and jeans!"

Rowan laughed. "Don't worry," he assured her. "We're heading up into the mountains. Trust me, it's freezing up there, no matter how warm it is down here." He tossed his bag over his shoulder and steered Aelin away from the line to collect baggage; they were only staying for a few days, so they only needed a small bag to last them. "Speaking of which, the coach should be here soon."

She raised an eyebrow. "Coach? Other people are heading to your cousins' place?"

"No, but other people are going skiing, and the village that Enda and the likes live in is a short cable car trip over the mountain. You'll be glad for your warm clothes there; it's all covered in snow."

Aelin fixed him with a narrow eyed glare. "It's the middle of April."

"If you don't believe me, wait until you see the snow yourself."

They got on the coach with everyone else, and Aelin promptly dug around in her bag to pull out a book. "You'll get sick," Rowan immediately told her. She just stuck her tongue out at him. He smirked, and went to watch the scenery flash past.

Two and a half hours later, he took immense pleasure in saying, "I told you so."

"Oh, shut up," she grumbled back. "I don't get carsick."

"Clearly you do."

"I don't!"

"Forgive me if I don't believe you."

"I'll do no such thing." She glared, and at the teasing smile he shot her, released an exasperated breath.

He leaned forward. "Fine; I'll humour you. If you don't get carsick, why are you green?" Her hand flew to her face, and he amended. "Well, not green, but looking liable to throw up."

Her glare didn't recede. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Come on," he teased. He was in an oddly good mood, and he wanted to extend this conversation. A small voice in his head accused him of only showing interest so he didn't dwell on the inevitably awkward reunion awaiting him, but he shoved it away. "You're obviously sick. You actually put down your book, and you'd only read a few pages before you did. You were enthralled by it on the plane."

"I am _not_ sick. They're just butterflies." She defended. "And I just hit an awkward part that I didn't want to force myself through at that particular moment."

"You're an awful liar." He told her, his face completely straight.

Her hand fluttered up to her heart. "Excuse me! I happen to be an excellent liar."

"No you're not. Every time you lie you go very very still." She raised an eyebrow at him, and he elaborated, "You're always moving. Whether you're tapping your fingers, or fidgeting in your seat, or fighting a smile, there is always movement. But whenever you start to deceive someone, you go absolutely still and silent, like you're an assassin or something." He sat back and shrugged. "It's not that hard to notice, if you bother to look."

The glare fell at that.

"If you bother to look," she mused.

* * *

"So you weren't kidding about the snow."

"Nope."

"And it's definitely the middle of April? We haven't jumped through a time loop or something?"

"Nope."

"Are you going to say 'Nope' in response to every question I have?"

"Yep."

Aelin flicked his nose without looking at him, and ended up catching his ear instead. "Smartass."

Rowan grinned. They were halfway up the mountain in a small cable car, and Aelin was enthralled by the view. She claimed she'd never been up so high, and Rowan knew that whilst Terrasen had mountains, Wendlyn's were far taller and the range was wider, so he found that easy to believe.

"I swear I've never seen anything like this view," she said. "The sky's like the world's been turned upside and we're staring at the underside of a lake, and the snow's been tossed over the mountains like a massive patchy blanket, with grass hills wearing holes in it."

Rowan raised his eyebrow at that. "You certainly missed your calling as a poet."

"I read a lot of books."

"Poetry books?"

"Whatever book I can get my hands on."

He was about to ask what the strangest book she'd ever read was, but then her attention was caught by a small black dot zooming down the mountain below them. Rowan watched the skier for a moment, as they crested a bump and shot down a particularly steep slope, and his breath hissed out between his teeth. Then the skier went over a jump and he actually started.

Aelin laughed out loud. "Are you scared for them?"

He gritted his teeth again. "It's a dangerous sport."

"I take it you've tried before, and it terrified you."

"I never understood Enda's fascination with hurtling down the side of a mountain." He admitted. "I _did_ try, and promptly broke my leg. But he can do flips and three sixties and gods know what else."

"Does he do it for a living? I remember Ren was friends with a ski instructor in Terrasen. He said the basics of snowboarding are harder than skiing, but the more advanced you get the easier it is."

"Is that true?" She shrugged. "I never knew. I found them both impossible. But nah, Enda's my aunt's assistant. He monitors her investments and shit; I don't really understand what he does. But she disapproves of his hobby just as much as I do." As much as he hated to admit they had something in common, it was true. "She claims it will be too much bother for her to get a new assistant after he breaks his neck."

Aelin cringed. "She sounds absolutely heartless. Will she be there?"

"Unfortunately." Rowan admitted. A thought struck him. "Aedion tells me you know a client of hers? He's one of those politicians she endorses. Gavin?"

"Galan? Galan Ashryver?" She asked, and his face must have lit up in recognition, because her shoulders slumped. "Oh, _him_." Rowan didn't think he was imagining the contempt in her voice. "He's my cousin. And Aedion's." She raises an eyebrow. "But he's endorsed by... Maeve Queen." That same look of disgust he'd seen on Aedion's face crossed hers, their resemblance really was uncanny. " _She's_ your aunt?"

"Unfortunately."

"And she'll be there?"

"Unfortunately."

"Will Galan? Will I have to talk to them?"

"Unfortunately."

"I'm getting a sense of déjà vu here." The dismay hadn't disappeared, but there was a smile in her voice. He laughed.

"I wonder why."

Aelin studied the slopes below them for a moment, then announced, "Skiing looks fun."

"Oh gods not you too."

* * *

The village Doranelle was directly next to the ski slope, much to Rowan's distaste, but it seemed to endlessly amuse Aelin. He knew that Enda only lived out here whenever Maeve decided to go off on one of her lavish holidays, so he wasn't expected to work with her in Varese, but for some reason Maeve had decided to accompany him here this time, so Rowan had to suffer through her presence on his errant visit. He wondered if Aelin could tell that his slow walk was an attempt to evade the inevitable.

Aelin's eyes were wistful as she looked around the snowy town, and he wondered what she saw when he looked at it, if she saw the same thing as him: a quaint little postcard village with outdated architecture and over reliance on tourism. (Not that he would ever tell his cousin that particular opinion about his hovel; this place was Enda's whole world.) But the look on her face suggested fairly strongly that she didn't.

"What is it?" He asked, when she looked at him oddly.

She was quiet for a moment, then said, "It smells like pine and snow."

He had no idea what that meant, but he didn't want to ask.

"This is his place," Rowan said, just to break the silence that had befallen them. They passed by a small cafe where the last few dregs of winter tourists were visible through the frosted glass windows having their lunch. Beside him, Aelin sneezed as a snowflake landed on her nose.

He stepped up to the door and used the frozen iron knocker to bang on the wood three times, even though footsteps were sounding behind the door by the second knock. It swung open inward, to reveal the beaming face of Endymion Whitethorn.

"Rowan!" His cousin grinned, the green in his eyes temporarily washing out the brown flecks. He wore his long silver hair back in a ponytail, the way Rowan used to before he decided long hair was more bother than it was worth. "You're actually here." There was accusation in his voice, but enough joy to temper it.

"I am," Rowan replied, and despite his usual standoffish demeanour, he went into his cousin's offered hug wholeheartedly, holding him a bit tighter than usual. "I missed you." He said. It wasn't a lie.

"Could've fooled me," Enda replied gruffly, but his grassy eyes gleamed. He'd always been good at reading people, and Rowan knew his cousin knew he'd meant what he said. Then those eyes slid over Rowan's shoulder, to where Aelin still hovered in the doorway, shivering against the cold. "Come in," his cousin assured her, then stuck his hand out, the picture of courtesy. "I'm Enda."

Aelin took it gratefully, and somehow managed to muster a polite smile that lacked her usual sarcasm or bitterness. Rowan was tempted to gape. "I'm Aelin, Rowan's friend."

"Pleasure to meet you, Aelin. I'm glad grumpy-guts over here didn't make the trip on his own." The woman's eyes sparked at that, the gold writhing like a living flame as she cast a sly glance at Rowan.

"I agree," she said solemnly, but with a slight smile twitching about her lips. Rowan saw Enda saw this, and respond with a smile of his own. "Rowan tells me you enjoy skiing?" She asked, and he groaned. Her smile widened as she ignored him and said, "It looks like a lot of fun. I'd love for you to tell me about it."

Enda wasn't even trying to hide his laughter. "I'd love to. Why don't you two come through to the living room, and we can stop standing on ceremony." Then, to Rowan, he added, "Sellene's here. She's got a few choice words for your lack of communication."

Rowan winced. His youngest cousin, Sellene, was as good at observing people as Enda, but she also wielded words as her weapons, and her lectures were famous amongst the Whitethorns.

"Is _she_ here?" Rowan had to ask as they moved inexorably forward. Enda's silent cringe was answer enough.

They stepped into the room, and Rowan sensed more than saw Aelin suddenly linger by the door, her eyes going straight to the brown haired man standing next to his aunt. Rowan made an effort not to look at them, instead letting his eyes land on Sellene first, and the cunning little razor smile she tossed him. Then his eyes moved onto Maeve, in all her dark haired, violet eyed glory, and her client standing next to her, whose ruddy skin had gone a sickly colour at the sight of Aelin.

Enda cleared his throat. "Everyone, this is Rowan's friend-"

"Aelin Ashryver Galathynius," Maeve mused. "You look so much like your mother did before she died."

Aelin flinched. Enda gaped between Galan and her, finally seeing the resemblance in those unusual eyes. Maeve kept her serene, smug expression. Galan flushed an ugly red and looked suspiciously guilty. Rowan was left hovering in the middle of the room, unsure where to go.

He awkwardly put a hand on Aelin's shoulder. She didn't shake it off, but she didn't welcome the contact either.

Instead she mustered a smile to give her cousin. "Hi, Galan. It's been a while."

The flush receded slightly, until it just curled around his neck like a scarf. "Indeed it has. How are you?"

She rubbed her bicep. "Fine."

Her cousin still looked slightly ill, but he steeled his spine and asked, "Could I talk to you outside?"

Aelin just nodded. Rowan gave her a lingering look, but she glared at him, and he turned to make a beeline for his youngest cousin; judging by that look, it would be better to face Sellene's lecture than whatever Aelin would say to him if he tried to impose himself.

In the moment before Sellene brushed her silver hair out of her face and launched into her speech, Rowan looked up to see Maeve watching him. A small smile played on her ruby lips.

* * *

Aelin had been uncharacteristically quiet for the rest of the trip, and Rowan was just about ready to jump out of his skin by the time they were boarding the coach again to drive back to the airport. When he finally got up the courage to ask her about her conversation with Galan, whilst they were on the cable car, she'd explained the situation.

"My parents contracted a disease over ten years ago, and I was sent away to live with Elide for a few weeks. They contacted my mother's brother, Galan's dad, who owned a medical research lab, and asked him to look into acquiring the cure for them. He said he would, as soon as he'd finished with all the paperwork that had accumulated. They asked him to do it immediately, suspecting it was fatal, but he refused. He didn't find a cure in time, and my parents were dead within the week." She'd shrugged. "Galan was just apologising."

But there was another encounter that was haunting his mind. Just before they'd left, Maeve had leaned over and grasped Aelin's wrist, using her few moments of seized time to whisper something in her ear, before letting go, and sashaying away, leaving a stricken Aelin in her wake.

Now, Aelin broke the heavy silence by saying, "I know what Nehemia asked you to convince me to do. And I know that whatever you say, my mind is made up now. I know what I want to do, and it won't change."

"Even if it's the smartest thing to do?" He dared ask, but she made it clear the conversation was over by burrowing around in her bag and pulling out a book.

"You'll get travel sick again," he warned with a half laugh. Anything to get rid of the awkward silence. "You can't read on a coach."

"I can and I will," she replied resolutely. Almost emotionlessly. From such a passionate woman, it unnerved him. "I told you: I don't get travel sick.".

"Then why were you ill on the way up?" Rowan asked. "And don't say you don't know, because it's pretty obvious you do."

She was silent for a very long time as she stared at the book, but her eyes remained stagnant on the page. Just when Rowan thought she would ignore the question, she spoke.

"Butterflies," was all she said, then she turned the page, and would say no more.


	5. A Scar

**As always, thanks to everyone who reviewed!**

 **I'm sorry I haven't been able to update as much, but I've decided to focus on my series of oneshots, Heart to Hearts, for the next few weeks. Not to mention, I'll be away and have no access to wifi for over a week. This story should be coming to an end in a few chapters but if you bear with me, I'll make sure it does sooner rather than later.**

 **Possible trigger warnings for dark themes later on in the chapter.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Throne of Glass.**

* * *

For a few days after the visit, Aelin had been concerningly quiet. But one day, about a week after their return, Rowan had been called up to her flat to investigate the sudden thumps emanating from the ceiling.

He'd found her bouncing around the room - and squealing.

Lysandra had looked on, more relieved than amused.

"Elide's coming," she'd said as a brief explanation for her friend's actions.

Rowan had just nodded. But she'd surprised him when she'd asked him to join them on their day out, claiming "You're pretty much a part of the family now."

So he was waiting with what Aedion referred to as "the Court" - Aedion, Lysandra, Chaol, Dorian and Rowan; Nehemia hadn't been able to be there - Aelin's flat when the buzzer went, and Aelin jumped up to talk through the speaker and let her cousin up. A few minutes later, Rowan heard a soft, almost tentative, rap on the door, some muttered grumbling, followed by a louder and more insistent knock, like someone else had leaned over and knocked "properly".

Aelin was all smiles when she flung the door wide open, and enveloped the slight, dark-haired girl in a hug. The white haired girl behind her huffed an indignant sigh, and Aelin's smile was a razor as she beheld the woman over he cousin's head. "Well if it isn't Manon Blackbeak."

The woman - Manon - sniffed, but a her lips twitched upwards. "Long time no see, Aelin Galathynius."

Everyone seemed to freeze at the sudden tension in the room - including Dorian, who Rowan had spotted eyeing the white-haired woman appreciatively. Even Elide, who raised a dark brow and prodded carefully, "You two know each other?"

Manon's smile was a flash of white bone, and for a moment Rowan could imagine her teeth were made of sharp iron. "We had an. . . _interesting_ meeting last year at the old ruin of Temis. You know the crumbling temple on that ledge in the middle of Oakwald? The Thirteen and I were looking to set up camp there for a night, and so was the fire breathing bitch over here, along with a few of her friends. We ended up sharing." She examined her nails indifferently - they were painted grey and glittered like metal. She flexed her fingers; Rowan was sure he saw a flash of claws there.

"I remember you, now!" Lysandra exclaimed suddenly. She turned to Aedion suddenly. "Remember? We'd gone on that trip to Endovier and the way back had taken longer than we'd anticipated, so we had to set up camp in the temple overnight, along with the Witches. Aelin snuck out in the middle of the night to talk to them."

"It wasn't exactly talking," the woman in question drawled, but her eyes now sparked with the mischief that always gave Rowan chills whenever he saw it. "It was more like an interrogation."

"I didn't kill you," Manon responded sweetly. "And honestly? That's all you can hope for."

Elide clapped her hands - a smart move on her part. "Didn't you promise to show me the beach, Aelin?" She asked. "It's a lovely day; I don't want to waste it reminiscing on near-death experiences." A narrow look at Manon.

Aelin laughed. "Of course." She flicked the latch on the door, and hooked her arms through Manon's and Elide's elbows simultaneously, that one fluid motion showing off the grace she'd undoubtably learned as a dancer. "Shall we go then?"

They sashayed down the hall, and after a baffled look at the others in the room, Rowan took off after them.

He could've sworn he heard Lysandra mutter "Maybe this time they won't try to shove each other off a cliff," just before Aedion shrieked in shock.

* * *

Rowan did not know what Elide's experience of "lovely days" entailed, but in his opinion, this was not one. He'd been a little apprehensive even before leaving the house, eyeing the storm cloud sky like it was a bad omen, but Aelin had seemed so excited, and so he'd begrudgingly gone, keeping his auguries to himself.

But now they actually stood on the beach, it was fucking freezing.

And that was coming from Rowan, who'd grown up in the mountains that snowed in April. So he did a double take when Aelin kicked off her flimsy trainers, rolled up her jeans, and waded shin deep into the sea.

 _How the fuck is she not cold? Does she have special fire powers that keep her warm or something?_

Rifthold's beach was a half hour drive from their block of flats in the centre of the city. He was not making that journey with Aelin in soaked attire.

Aedion seemed to be equally concerned, but about entirely different matters. "How can you walk on the pebbles without them hurting your feet?" He asked, sounding flabbergasted.

Lysandra, removing her own shoes and removing her leggings from beneath her skirt, smirked, and tossed a reply over at her boyfriend. "Not everyone has as sensitive feet as you do, Aedion." Then she ran into the water herself.

Aedion gaped, and exchanged a helpless look with Rowan. He didn't blame him, as, to repeat, _it was April._ Not to mention it was _bitterly cold_.

Manon cackled at them, and decided to go even further, and took off her top and shorts, to reveal a swimming costume underneath. "Is it a touch too cold for you boys?" She crooned, before diving into the waves and catching up to Aelin in a few strong strokes.

"What. The. Fuck." Dorian and Chaol returned from where they'd been buying the group fish and chips from the nearby booth. Chaol's tone was hard with disbelief. "Are they doing?"

Rowan said dryly, "Swimming, I believe."

"It's _freezing_."

"Tell that to them."

"Aelin's her own personal heater, Chaol," Dorian said. He nudged his friend conspiratorially. "You should know this better than anyone."

The blue-eyed man barked a laugh at the furious blush that swamped his friend's face, but Rowan couldn't share his mirth. Something twisted in his gut at the realisation that Aelin and Chaol had once been a thing, something that made the rest of him buck and recoil in loyalty to Lyria's memory. But he squashed it before he himself could even try to unravel what it meant.

Once Dorian straightened from his bent-over-laughing position, he handed Rowan an ice cream. Rowan took it, one eye still on the people splashing about in the waves. Aelin's jeans were now suitably soaked and he could only imagine the swearing she'd indulge in later as she tried to get the saltwater stains out of them. Lysandra had a massive wet patch on the left side of her face and blouse, presumably where her friend had chucked water at her. Manon was sitting waist deep in the sea smirking at them.

Elide had taken a seat someway up the beach, close enough to the sea that she could easily shout to the girls and be heard, but too far for her to be caught by a stray splash of water. She had her phone out, with pale blue earphones snaking their way into either side of her head. Her hair was braided back in a single dark plait, but a few stray strands fell in her face, so Rowan made sure to sit down a good distance away, as not to startle her. "Hi." He said.

She didn't respond. "Hello?" He said, a little bit louder.

She jumped at that. "Oh, sorry!" She said, slightly louder than necessary. She pulled her earbuds out of her ears, and tapped her phone screen, before turning to smile over at him. "What did you say?"

He was slightly bewildered. "I just said hi."

She smiled again. She was quite pretty, he thought. Not like Aelin was, but the way he'd seen some of Lorcan's old girlfriend's be, in an understated, charming sort of way. "You're Rowan, aren't you? Aelin's boyfriend."

He choked. " _No._ " At her shocked face, he elaborated. "We're- We're just friends." He swallowed. The idea that he could be involved with someone - _anyone_ \- so soon after Lyria. . . No.

No.

 _No._

He wasn't ready for that.

Elide's face was a mask of bland prettiness, especially when she handed him an acknowledging nod, but her eyes narrowed a tiny bit, and she ran them up and down his frame with such frank analysis he fidgeted where he sat. "If you say so," she said finally.

He looked away, shaken.

Desperate to change the subject, he asked, "What- What are you listening to?"

She raised her eyebrows when she followed his questioning gaze to the phone cradled in her lap. ""Oh - it's an audiobook. I find reading difficult, so Aelin gives me recommendations of good ones to listen to. This, apparently, is her absolutely favourite. _A Court of Thorns and Roses_."

The words went through him with a jolt. "Oh gods."

She inclined her head in question. He went on, "I was reading _ACOMAF_ \- the second one - the other day, and she noticed. Dorian too. He spotted the warning on the back about mature content, and I'm not entirely sure she's done teasing me about it yet."

He glanced over his shoulder, just in time to see an arc of glittering seawater shatter against Aelin's back. She shrieked, and whipped round so fast her hair swung into her face. It didn't stop her from lashing out with her foot at Lysandra - the culprit - and forcing her to duck back. "I guess that explains why she knew so many _excruciating_ details to torment me with."

Elide chuckled gently, and he wasn't sure whether it was at his story, or her cousin's antics. Or both. "That sounds like Aelin. And Dorian. I haven't known him for as long, but he seems to have some sort of hidden side to him that isn't as innocent as he'd like us to think."

Rowan blinked, flashing back to the conversation they'd had about it. "You're not joking."

"They're a handful." She said fondly. She tucked a lock of hair behind her hair. "Always have been. Especially Aelin. Did she ever tell you about the time she 'accidentally' beat the absolute shit out of this guy who was staring at Lysandra a little too invasively?"

He blinked; the swear word had slipped out so naturally. It was odd seeing it come from such a calm, controlled person. "No. Although that does sound interesting. What happened?"

She closed her eyes and laughed at the memory of it. "Lysandra had come to visit Sam at his and Aelin's dance studio - this was before the girls were friends - and one of their investors, Archer Finn, was looking at Lysandra in a way Aelin didn't like. He even opened his mouth to catcall, but Aelin beat him to it, and demanded he stop looking at her friend that way. I wasn't there, but I was told that it escalated quickly from there. Aelin walked away unscathed, and Archer had to go to the hospital to treat his broken nose. Naturally he stopped sponsoring them, but Aelin made do without the money."

Rowan felt it was tactless to said it, but he said it anyway. "Did you- Did you know Sam very well?"

It was like a storm cloud had passed over her features. The wind caught her hair and blew it across her face, which was suddenly solemn. "I knew him well enough. Not as well as those who lived here in the city with him, like Aelin, Aedion and Lysandra, but well enough. And you didn't even really need to know him very well to love him. He was one of the kind souls who always makes the time to be nice, even when no one's nice to him in return." She smiled sadly, her eyes tracking her cousin. "Take Aelin, for example. They were massive rivals at first. Then they started working as dance partners, and it only went uphill from there." Her voice dropped. "Until it all went over the cliff."

"Did he really attend your family reunion every year with Aelin?"

She bit her lip, then nodded. "Yes. After her parents died, it became. . . difficult, for her to come. She missed two in a row, before Aedion confronted her about it. Said that we were all each other had, and we couldn't give up on each other now. And it worked - to an extent. But she didn't fully agree to come until Sam convinced her to a month later. I remember when Ren first laid eyes on him." She laughed again. "Ren seems like an unfeeling, heartless bastard half the time, but between him and Aedion, I'm surprised Sam agreed to come back the next year, even knowing he'd have to put up with all the overprotective bullshit."

"He loved Aelin that much?"

"Oh, don't get me wrong. He loved us all. He loved our family, as odd as it was, although I could never figure out whether it was because he genuinely loved us all, or if he just longed for that sense of community - his mother had died, you see, and he never knew his father. No brothers or sisters or cousins. But we loved him back - how could we not? - and so for a few years we were all happy."

"For a few years," he echoed. They both looked over at Aelin, who was smirking at Manon over something Dorian had said.

Elide shrugged, but there was no disguising the sorrow in her voice as she said, "She's had a hard love - not made any easier by her awful Ashryver cousins over in Wendlyn. You know, she was in the car with me when I injured my foot?"

Rowan started. "Really?"

Elide nodded. "She got out mostly intact, but the skin on her back was fiercely shredded, like she'd been whipped or something. Even months after it had completely healed, she hated the sight of the scars. She was in a bad time, and I think she hated that it had been me that was injured permanently, and not her. Not to mention how ashamed she was." She creased her brow, and bit her lip.

Then she shook her head. "Whatever the reason, she got the bulk of them tattooed over. I think it tells the stories of her parents, and us, in some language she learned. When Sam died, I know she went to get his story tattooed on her as well. Like a monument to her loved ones."

"That's. . ." _Sad_ , he wanted to say. _Heartbreaking,_ he wanted to say. _Understandable_ , was his final thought, once he'd cast his mind back to how he'd felt with Lyria.

"We all bear scars," interrupted a voice behind them. Pebbles crunched, and he turned to see Aelin, soaking wet, walk up to them. Her hair shone like sunshine, but her eyes were somewhere far, far away.

Then she snapped back to the present to meet his gaze. There was a note of exhaustion to her voice as she finished, "Mine are just more visible than most."


	6. A Memory

**Thanks for all your support, but I think this'll be the last oneshot in this series. I don't really have anymore stories to tell in this universe. It's a bit shorter than usual, sorry.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Throne of Glass.**

* * *

A significant amount of months later, Rowan was undeniably, irrevocably in love with Aelin.

She'd been getting happier, laughing more, being sarcastic more. He knew she'd never forgotten about Sam - anymore than he'd forgotten about Lyria - but she was coping. They both were.

So it'd hit him like a punch to the gut when he'd heard the sadness in her voice the previous evening as she said, "Tomorrow's the anniversary, of. . . what happened."

She meant Sam, he knew. And if he cast his mind back, it was approximately a year ago that he'd walked in on her for the first time, to find her sitting at the piano. Two weeks before, she'd comforted him as he mourned Lyria's death; he felt somehow obligated to do the same with her here, but he didn't know how.

Fortunately, she'd helped him with that by squeezing his hand and saying, "I was hoping- I was hoping you could come visit his grave with me. I-" She swallowed, and confessed, "I don't think I can do this alone."

He'd squeezed her hand back, and whispered, "To whatever end, Aelin. Of course."

Today, he'd dressed up in suitable mourning clothes and dropped by her flat at quarter to twelve, just as she'd asked. He'd even made sure to be early.

But when she emerged from her bedroom, it wasn't in some dark coloured garb she was clad in.

No.

 _Life_ was the first thing he thought when he saw the spring green tunic she'd donned, with gold threads and ribbons decorating the hems. Matching gold bracelets jangled at her wrists. She'd braided her hair in a ring over the crown of her head, and the sun picked out strands of it in the light, and the wind stirred the locks that hung loose. For a moment as she stood there, she looked like an angel.

Then she smiled sadly, and stepped forward. "Ready to go?"

* * *

Aelin insisted they walk along the beach first, and Rowan didn't object. It was low tide, and in the gunmetal light that filtered through the clouds he watched her as she bent down along the water's edge to inspect the pebbles underfoot. She'd done it at least a dozen times before she was finally satisfied with the rock she lifted: an egg shaped, pearlescent grey stone, with streaks of orange and green and pink where the ore had started to form around the edges. She used the hem of her dress to rub it dry as they left the seaside.

Rowan didn't want to ask, or to bring up any painful memories, but he did, and when she replied it was with an oddly strong voice that she said, "It's a tradition in Terrasen. Rather than give the dead person flowers, which would wilt away and die soon again, you lay rocks upon their gravestones. It's to do with solidarity, I think."

"That's a very practical tradition."

She laughed. "Well, most traditions aren't particularly practical _or_ effective. I guess someone decided we needed a change."

"I can't disagree there."

She laughed again, and then they had reached the wrought iron gates of the graveyard, and all laughter turned to silence. He snuck a glance at her out of his peripheral vision, and was surprised to find her eyes dry. She confidently moved between the headstones, her lips forming the numbers as she counted, and finally she slowed to a stop at a simple one, with bunches of flowers mounted on the top, and already quite a few stones accumulating on the cold earth.

Aelin smiled as she looked at them. "I should've known Aedion would have told the rest of the Galathyniuses about today." She said. Her voice broke slightly, but she didn't cry. "They'll have left stones as well. And the flowers will be from Lysandra. He always loved massive bunches of flowers - it was their thing, giving these gigantic bouquets to each other at random times. I think they got it from their mother - well Sam's mother, and Lysandra's adoptive mother. She loved flowers as well, but they couldn't even afford them at her funeral."

Rowan didn't know what to say in response to this new piece of information - _Lysandra and Sam had been siblings?_ \- but he decided to file it away for another time, and said nothing.

Aelin took his hand, and knelt in front of the grave. He knelt with her, and read the inscription as she opened her mouth to speak: _S_ _am Cortland. Beloved._

"Dear Sam," she began. "I miss you. So much. And I hope that in whatever afterlife you're in now, you can receive our flowers and pebbles and wishes, and that you're _happy_. Because that was what you always deserved, more than anyone else in the world. _To be happy_.

"I'll say it again, because I can't say it enough: I miss you. Every day, I miss you. And I- I never really told you how I felt. I never said it enough, anyhow. I loved you. I still do. I'll love you until I die, and maybe if there is an Afterworld we can put our faith in. . . maybe I'll see you there. But until then, I'll miss you.

"And I wonder what you would have made of all this. Made of me, and what's happened this past year. You used to say that the world was too small for hatred, and that life was too short to hold grudges. How was it that yours was the shortest of all?" She took a ragged breath; Rowan tore his eyes from the headstone to look at her, and the tears gleaming on her cheekbones. "But I'll move on. I love you, and I'll try to always remember what you said, and what it felt like to be young, and in love, with the future sprawled out at our feet.

"I think I'm going to restart our old dance company." She admitted, rubbing her bicep. Rowan tried to contain his shock. "You're the first person I've told, and Rowan's the first person to have overheard it. I've been receiving all sorts of emails and letters and cards from the kids we used to work with and their parents, both offering condolences and begging me to keep going. It'd be a shame to let all our dreams go to wreck and ruin. Because that's what they are. _Our dreams_." She shook her head. "I haven't gone back to the studio yet; it's been too painful. But I will. I won't let this light go out. That was what you taught me." She lowered her voice. "I'll always love you. Remember that." She laughed softly.

"You always said I had enough love in my heart to give to everyone. And maybe you were right. Maybe I can learn to love someone else the way I loved you. I hope so. The world needs more love." She rose to her feet, and added her parting words. "I'll always miss you, too. And I'll see you next year."

She turned to leave, but Rowan remained kneeling with closed fists. She paused a few steps away, the wind stirring a few strands of her hair to drift in the sunlight. "Rowan?"

Rowan opened his hand to reveal the black, spherical pebble he'd picked up and slipped into his pocket without her noticing when they'd been on the beach. And with a heart-cracking gentleness, well aware of how much this meant to her, he set it at the foot of the headstone.

Her voice stuck in her throat. "He was-"

"I know who he was to you." He rose to his feet, and offered her his hand. "Shall we go?"

Tears were streaming down her face in abundance now. He felt like he was made of stone, like one of the gravestones, standing there stationery. Only his hair moved in the wind.

They stood in a place of death - but it was life Rowan could feel awakening inside him as she took his hand. Life, and maybe a little bit of hope too. "Let's go home."

* * *

 **Thanks for reading!**


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